A Study In Music (And Its Effects On John Watson)
by moriartealeaves
Summary: In the turn of events, John has to pick up the clarinet again for a case. But what kind of case? Only Sherlock can tell.


**Summary: In the turn of events, John has to pick up the clarinet again for a case. But what kind of case? Only Sherlock can tell.**

One might call it an usual quiet day at 221B. But then again, when were things ever "usual" with Sherlock around? The sudden slam of the door shook John out of his stupor. "John we've got a case!" John blinked and immediately sat up straighter in his chair as Sherlock began his monologue on the latest facts for the case.

"Young adult, male, was found dead in his flat. There were no signs of struggle, but it looked like he died from asphyxiation. There were no signs of the murder weapon and the only things surrounding him was his clarinet and his sheet music. He placed his sheet music against his wall so the murder weapon could not have been a music stand. The question here is who killed him and how."

"But how do you know that it was a murder and not, you know, an accident?" John questioned. Sherlock looked offended.

"Of course it was a murder. How else would he have died?"

John shrugged. "Well he was playing the clarinet. He could have easily suffocated."

Sherlock looked stunned. "That's it! John, you played the clarinet at school right?I know how we are going to solve this already." 

20 minutes and a cab ride with Sherlock fidgeting in his seat later, they finally arrived at the victim's house. It was a cramped apartment with no clutter at all. John crouched next to the body and began examining him.

"You're right. There are no bruises or anything at all and he definitely suffocated."

Sherlock picked up the clarinet and handed it to John.

"Since you pointed out that he could have suffocated after playing the clarinet, we are going to recreate the situation," Sherlock said, arranging the sheet music that the victim was playing before his death.

"Flight of the Bumblebee? Sherlock that's crazy hard!" John exclaimed, eyes widening at the sheet music placed in front of him.

Sherlock read his facial expressions. "Weren't you brilliant at music? Well your conductor must have liked you and given you a few leadership roles—" "How did you know?" Sherlock smirked.

"Easy. You aren't being humble and saying that you'll never be able to play it, other than saying how hard the piece is, which means you probably had some experience playing hard pieces, thus you are a good player. And conductors obviously like good players so he would have given you lots of leadership roles. Furthermore you're already holding the clarinet properly with all your fingers in the correct positions which shows you were indeed a very good player and have not forgotten how to play just yet." John could not help but stare.

"That… That was brilliant!"

"Of course. Now quick, start playing. Blow until you can't anymore."

John positioned the clarinet in front of him and suddenly remembered. "Wait a minute. The reed is broken, which means he would have needed to use more air to produce a sound. No wonder he suffocated."

"Ah yes John, but we would not know for sure unless you start blowing. Now blow."

John huffed and started wetting the reed. "Can't I have my own reed? This is disgusting!" "No." John glared at Sherlock and reluctantly blew an open G, but not before muttering, "Bloody string players." He tuned the instrument and proceeded to sight-read.

As John skimmed through the thousands of chromatic notes, he was oblivious to Sherlock staring at him intently. If he had not been busy playing, he would have noticed Sherlock's pupils dilating. Sherlock slowly moving closer and closer. Sherlock letting out a deep breath.

Finally John stopped and gasped for air. "I can't. I've got no breath left." He collapsed onto the floor, panting as Sherlock got down on his knees in an instant.

"If it consoles you, I thought that was beautiful."

"What was?" John asked once he could speak again.

"Your playing."

John cracked a smile. "Yeah well, I might pick it up again sometime. Come on Sherlock I do believe we're done here." 

Once they were back at Baker Street, John remembered to ask, "So how did he actually die?"

Sherlock smirked. "He tried his best to play the song but just as he was about to stop he got a sudden mini heart attack. And due to the lack of oxygen he died. Knew that long ago."

John smiled. He really was fantastic. "Hang on, if you knew that long ago, why did you get me to play?" Sherlock looked sheepish at this.

"I wanted to hear you play— I mean confirm my theory."

"Admit it Sherlock. You just wanted to hear me play."

Sherlock bowed his head in defeat. "Fine."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes."

"Anything else I should know?"

"…You have beautiful lips from years of playing the clarinet."

John blushed but knew how to get Sherlock even redder. "Oh I don't know. Want to prove that they feel nice too?" John ignored Sherlock's look of shock and tiptoed, pressing their lips together. Sherlock sighed into John's soft, plump, red lips and tangled his fingers into John's hair to bring him closer. Their mouths moved in sync as they relished the feeling of this kiss. They broke apart and took in the sight of both of their bruised lips, both collapsing on the sofa. John ran his hair through Sherlock's curls.

"You know what? I rather love your fingers too."

 **A/N Hi this is the second time I'm posting this (since the previous time I did the format went wonky) and I do hope you enjoy this story :) If I have made any sinful errors do tell me!**


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